


really really really

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson thinks Daisy is amazing, Daisy hates Deke Shaw, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Nail Polish, Sexual Tension, Sloppy Makeouts, Soulmates, panting toes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 23:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: For #cousycomfort. Set in S5. Daisy decides to take care of herself and Coulson decides to help her.





	really really really

Daisy walks past him with what looks like a small bowl of lemons and turns them over into the trash, without a word.

His eyes follow her as she goes back the way she came, looking very much on a mission of some kind.

Mack was just trying to get some work done, and he is hiding, if he's being honest with himself.

They exchange a curious look between them, with Mack holding up the blowtorch he's using to make a point.

"I'll go talk to her," Coulson says to him, and slides off the stool he was sitting on, leaving the room to follow.

The hallway is relatively empty and he thinks about the Playground. The curious idea of it being a home at some point.

The Lighthouse doesn't feel like a home.

The only thing here that feels like home is Daisy.

Stopping in front of her door, he lifts his hand to knock. Hopefully in a way that will seem familiar to her.

"What?!" she says with her voice raised back at him through the door.

Clearly she's not in the mood to talk, he can't really blame her for that, and he turns to head back when the door swings open forcefully.

"Oh, it's you," she says, frowning like it was meant for someone else.

"It's me," he tells her with a small sigh, putting his hands into his jeans pockets.

She blinks back at him in awkward silence, then finally says, "Well, do you want to come in?"

"Sure," he says, raising his eyebrows at the unexpected invitation.

He walks through the open door past her and she shuts it behind him, as he glances around the room and figures out his place in it.

Daisy has set up something on her bed, and it looks like a few nail polishes, some lotion, and a towel.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asks, as she goes into the small bathroom and returns with a roll of toilet paper.

"I'm giving myself a mani-pedi," she says tersely, sitting down on the bed and drawing her knees closer to her chest. "Doing something nice for myself."

"Ah," he nods, and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, making it dip a bit as she starts to open a jar of the nail polish. "Want to talk about-"

"Nope," she interrupts with a shake of her head, and tries to hold the brush very still as she tries to look over her knees.

He watches for a few seconds then stretches out his hand, with a cool expression. "Let me do that."

She looks quite surprised, and raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you good at it?"

"I used to do it for my mom all the time," he says, trying to not sound too offended, leaning into his reach.

When she hands it over, he moves in closer along the bed, resting the heel of her foot on his thigh. "Comfy?"

"Sure," she says, wiggling her toes a little, until his fingers hold them still. "What brought this on?"

"You looked...distressed," he offers, reaching for the bottle of lotion and pouring some into his hands, warming them up, before he presses his thumb into the arch of her foot.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you," she replies, looking at him curiously. "Want to talk about it-"

"Nope," he says, pressing his lips together and shaking his head, then looking up at her with a hint of a smile.

"That feels...really good," she says, as he starts to massage the ball of her foot with his fingers, and she leans back into her arms, relaxing.

"Do you want the dark red or the blue?" he asks her, looking at the polish colors.

"Blue."

 

###

  
"It looks cute on you. It matches your eyes."

"We match," he says, like it's something meaningful, watching her bring the brush across his pinky nail and then blow across it.

It makes him shiver, not all the way to his toes, more like up his body, and he squirms a little on the bed.

"Hold still," she chastises him, reaching for his other foot and setting his other to the side.

"Finally, something that I'm better at than you," he says, inspecting his painted foot and noticing a little smudge on his big toe.

"You flatter me," she tells him, dipping the brush in the polish and concentrating while she starts to paint his other big toe. "Don't."

"I'm serious," he tells her. "You're such a remarkable woman, Daisy Johnson."

She pauses for a moment and looks up at him, her eyes honing in on his. "I don't feel remarkable right now. No matter how much you say it."

He suspects it's because she's been getting a lot of meaningless compliments lately.

And there's no question of unwanted attention, which is still unresolved. He hopes she will talk about it.

"You know, I guess I am bad at letting people take care of me," he tells her. "It's nice. I could get used to it."

"Hmm," she says with a teasing smile. "Next time we can do pink."

"I love pink," he tells her, bringing his eyebrows together in a question. "Who doesn't like pink?"

She goes back to painting, staring down at his toes. "You're better than me at a lot of things," she says, matter-of-factly.

"That's not true," he tells her, pointing at his toes. "But you're holding the brush, so I'm not going to argue."

"You're better at cooking than I am," she tells him moving to the next toe. "And hugs. You are _really_ good at hugs."

He sighs, and watches her work, thinking it over. "The only person I _really_ hug is you. So, I guess you make that possible?"

Her lips push out as she makes a steady blows across his toes again, and this time, he can't help it, his legs jump a little, and she wraps a hand around his ankle to hold him still.

"Maybe we're _really_ good at taking care of each other?" she suggests, as she tosses her hair aside, then puts the lid back on the nail polish.

"Yes," he answers, and she glances up at him, then holds his gaze, long enough that something shifts.

It's like a pull between them, a kind of gravity, if gravity were actually on their side for once.

She moves up the bed, his legs to either side of her, and stops just short of him where he's leaned against the headboard. Her knee positioned almost dangerously between his legs.

"You have to stay still, to let them dry," she says, looking him over.

He slips his hand along her hair and pulls her into him, as she presses her knee forward at the same time. He groans into her mouth as they share a first desperate and needy kiss, trying to figure out where their hands should go, and how far is too far, or if they want this to go too far.

There is a curse word balancing on the tip of his tongue when she moves her leg between his again, and she takes the word out of his mouth, and replaces it with her own.

"Shit. That was hot."

It makes him laugh a little, at the thought that maybe she might actually find him capable of this, that he's tingling all over with lust and an awareness of his deep attraction to her, more than something purely physical.

It's not desperation and it's not needy.

"What?" she asks him, going suddenly self-conscious at the way he's staring at her now, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I'm just thinking about how remarkable you are," he tells her, coiling his fingers in her hair, as she relaxes, and smiles openly at him now.

She pushes him up against the headboard to kiss him again.


End file.
